My Friend of Misery
by Girl 17
Summary: AU Forth Year. A horrible accident claims the lives of most of the Ravenclaws, and Hogwarts must be resorted. But on top of it all, Draco's been cursed with something he may not be able to bare.
1. Chapter One

  
Just In | CMost car accidents happen because of over correcting a mistake. The same happens with a duel and now Harry and Draco are forced to travel down a path, bound, during a horrible period in Hogwarts history...lassics | Directory | Columns | Dictionary [ Find ] Log In | Register   
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Authors note: This is my first Harry Potter story. While it's in an alternate fourth year, I took some liberty with Harry's class schedule (Potions being on Monday, for instance). This chapter is just setting everything up. The real fun stuff will happen later. *EG*   
  
**Prologue:  
**   
The bloody train-ride always made him nauseous.   
  
Usually, Draco would be keeping his mind off his own nausea by sneaking around the compartments, spying on other students and testing out the first years. This time, however, he felt too sick to even move. All he could do was stare out the window, watching the scenery flash by at high speeds while massaging his stomach.  
  
And to think that some muggles traveled this way all the time! It was barbaric. he said, without looking at the boy, reach into my pack and get me some of my Mother's cookies. It was a lucky thing that his mother took pity on his motion sickness. Sweet foods usually helped a great deal.  
  
Draco heard crunching, and turned just in time to see Goyle snatching one of the cookies for himself before he handed the box to Draco. Carrier's fee. Goyle muttered, his lips covered in crumbs.  
  
Draco glared at him for a moment, but had to inwardly admit that he had used the same trick to take Goyle's food many times in the past. It figured that the dimwit would finally catch on and turn it against him... it only took about four years.  
  
It didn't help his mood any that the cookies were oatmeal. He _hated_ oatmeal with a passion, but his mother shoved it down his throat anyway, claiming it was good. What would she know? He had never seen her eat the stuff before.  
  
He heard footsteps echoing down the hall even over the white noise of the train. Draco's quick ears picked it up immediately as a party of three. Reaching over, he opened the door to his compartment slightly and stuck his foot out. Unfortunately, he was a shade too early, and the person was able to see what was coming. In fact, he gave Draco's foot a hard kick.  
  
He hissed, pulling his leg back, You'll pay for that, he looked up to see who had done the deed,   
  
Serves you right! Said a haughty female voice, still hidden by the partially closed door. Granger, most likely.  
  
The train gave a lurch that was instantly translated into another wave of nausea. Whatever witty remark Draco was about to say was completely lost in the fact that he was going to puke soon. Shut up, muggle! He snapped, shutting the compartment door, before looking moodily out into the scenery again. Looking at the trees did help, a little. It irked him that his had been cut short. He would have to make up for it when he was feeling a bit better.  
  
Draco's stomach eventually settled a bit, and he began to doze off, when he heard tapping at the train window. It was Peavey, his Eagle owl. Muttering something under his breath, he opened up the window. Peavey flew in, dropped a piece of blue parchment onto the floor, and then flew out like the expertly trained bird he was.  
  
What's that? Crabbe wondered aloud, reaching for the parchment.   
  
Draco was quicker and grabbed it up first. It's none of your business, he answered curtly, opening up the message. His face, hidden by the heavy paper, fell a little. Quickly, he schooled it into a very, very forced smile. Oh good, my schedule change went through. I have Divination instead of Astronomy this year.   
  
He knew much better than to let Crabbe and Goyle know that this was not what he wanted. They would end up telling their parents, who in turn would tell his Father. Then... well, things wouldn't be good. Good friends stabbed you in the front, after all. Sometimes, Draco wondered if it were true.  
  
Completely not interested, Crabbe went back to staring out the window. Goyle was napping by his side.  
  
The stupid smile was wiped off of Draco's face when he bent down to read the letter a second time. He had been hoping that the change would not be approved. He truly enjoyed Astronomy Class. Not only was it not with the Gryffindors... he had a knack for it.   
  
His Father was the one who had wanted him to change classes. In fact, he insisted on it all summer. When Draco refused point blank to have the classes changed, Lucius even more strongly on it, and locked Draco away in his three bedrooms until he relented.   
  
Draco sighed. This summer had been a hell and now with his favorite class taken away... this term wasn't shaping up to look so great either.  
  
If he only knew.  
********  
  
  
  
**Chapter One:  
**   
  
  
The sunrise never seemed so lovely, so magical and inviting, than on the morning of double potions class. Harry would have loved nothing more than to stand at the castle window and watch the sun come up. Maybe if he stood here long enough, potions would be over by the time he got down to the dark, dank little hole.  
  
It was the start of the forth year, the first day of school. It would have been great... if not for the class. Although Harry considered Hogwarts to be his true home, every home has its downside, and double potions with Slytherin was a definite downside.   
  
Pretty, isn't it? Ron asked to his right. His flaming red hair was sticking out at all angles, looking like he had just rolled out of bed. This was partially true. It was hard coming off a summer of long nights, and he had slept in late. I could just stay here and miss potions completely, Ron added, really, I could.   
  
Harry opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a huff of ignition. Hermione had not noticed the boy's pause by the window, and had walked halfway down the hall without them.   
  
Would you two hurry up?  
  
Ron asked, putting a little bit of a whine in his voice.  
  
Stomping over to the two of them, she grabbed their wrists and forcefully pulled them from the window. If you think Snape makes you miserable now, wait until we're late for the first day of class.  
  
Harry reluctantly nodded, shaking free of Hermione's grasp and walking on his own. She was right, of course. He didn't feel up to tempting Snape's temper this early in the year.  
  
They found the room easily enough, of course. Long past were they days where they could get easily lost in the shifting stairways of Hogwarts. Harry trooped in first, finding a place in the back with his fellow Gryffindors. Ron (still being pulled in by Hermione, and enjoying every moment of it) sat beside him.  
  
I guess we know who wears the pants in that relationship. Came an all too familiar voice across the room.  
  
Harry didn't want to look, but he couldn't help himself. Draco Malfoy was turned around in his seat at the front of the class, sneering at them. Draco had grown another inch or two over the summer, but then again, so had Harry. For a moment, Harry contented himself with the knowledge that while he would still have to look up slightly to meet that sneer, the height difference wasn't too bad.  
  
Then again, if this was going to be a truly good year, he wouldn't have to see Malfoy's sneering face close up at all. That would be nice...  
  
His hopes were dashed when Draco rose from his seat and sauntered over to the trio, Crabbe and Goyle flanking him as usual. I hope you don't plan on sitting there all semester. His cool-as-cucumber gaze slid back and forth between Ron and Hermione. I don't want to be distracted by the sounds of snogging.  
  
Oh shut up, Malfoy. Hermione rolled her eyes and took out her Potions: Level Seven textbook, refusing to look at him. Refusing to furter acknowledge his presence at all.   
  
Yeah really, is that the best you can come up with? asked Ron.  
  
Draco's blueish gray eyes narrowed slightly, It's a pity, Weasel. As poor as your family is, as least your line is pure. Not tainted by... shall I say, mud?   
  
Up until this moment, Harry had been sitting quietly, hoping that Snape would show up and put a stop to this (and take points from Gryffindor, but that was only normal). But this had gone over the line. He stood up so fast that his chair was almost knocked out behind him. Go back into whatever hole you came out of, Malfoy. Leave us decent people alone.   
  
Draco barked, Gryffindors, decent? That's a laugh.  
  
Hermione still wasn't even bothering to look at him. Then what do you suppose Slytherins are? Saints?  
  
At least we are upfront, and we don't have to hide behind our friends to get things done. The ludicrousness of what he was saying made Harry wince slightly. Here was this idiot with two bodyguards behind him, telling them off for sticking together. After a moments pause, Draco seemed to realize this too, and continued, Plus, we're smarter.  
  
Is that why Hermione is top of the class? Harry jerked a thumb at Hermione who finally looked up at Draco, smiling an acid smile.   
  
Draco snorted, Her? Sure, the muggle is good in the classroom, but what about real life? He snapped his fingers, She's dead.  
  
Hermione looked like she wanted to throw her heavy textbook right at Draco's face for a moment, but she seemed to restrain herself. At least he didn't call her a mudblood this time. Just go ahead and keep believing that, Malfoy. Whatever it takes to let you sleep at night.  
  
Do you want to prove it? Draco asked, quickly.  
  
Hermione blinked, What are you... oh. No, I have better things to do.  
  
It seemed to take Ron a few second to catch up to Draco's line of thinking as well. Sod off. I remember what happened last time you tried the Wizard Duel on us. You didn't even show up.   
  
No then? Draco's eyes had now focused only on Harry, and his sneer grew two fold. How about you, Potter? I could do with a little bit of excitement this early in the term.  
  
Ron's right. You won't even show up.  
  
Slytherin's honor. When Draco saw that Harry wouldn't budge, he amended it, Fine. Malfoy's honor.  
  
Common sense told Harry not to fall for it. Hermione's disgruntled tutting told Harry not to fall for it. Even the feeling in the pit of his stomach told him not to fall for it. But, looking at Draco's face... that cocky arrogant face ... he wanted to knock that look right off. Just once. Okay. Friday night in the trophy room. Hermione will be my second.  
  
Golye is mine. See you there, Potter. With one final moment of hesitation, Draco left for his own seat. Crabbe and Golye following behind.  
  
Hermione stared at Harry. I can't believe you!   
  
Ron chimed in, just as peeved, I can't believe that you picked Hermione over me to be your second!  
  
Harry shrugged, Well... she does know the most hexes-  
  
Hermione cut him off, I can't believe that you're doing this at all, Harry! You and Ron almost got caught the last time and... and this is stupid! Ugh! Boys! Throwing up her hands in frustration, it took her a few moments for her to calm down, she added, in a strangely logical voice, I can't be your second. I have a Saturday advanced Arithmacy class, and I refuse to stop my studying just to watch you and Malfoy curse boils at each other.  
  
As if to put a seal on Hermione's point, the door to the potions class swung open and Professor Snape walked in. Get out your textbooks, he said as he strode to his desk, and turn to page fifteen. Your exams last year were abysmal. It seems you all have to unlearn all of your idiot assumptions before I can try to bring you up to the level that you should be at. His words were really nothing new, but his gaze... his cold steely gaze pinned down even the Slytherins in the classroom. Harry guessed that Snape wasn't exaggerating. The exams were _bad_. He himself had just barely scrapped by.  
  
As Snape was lecturing the class on the proper ways to cure toad toenails, Harry wrote a quite note on a spare piece of parchment before shoving it over to Ron.  
  
_Do you want to be my second?  
_   
Ron paused before writing back. Apparently, his ego had been bruised by Harry picking Hermione over himself. But, it hadn't been crushed.  
  
_Sure. We'll clobber him, Harry.  
_   
Ten points from Gryffindor! Snape's voice seemed to cut right through the classroom, making it seem as if he were yelling right in Harry's ear. Already half the classroom's eyes were turned towards Harry. When there were points to be deducted in potions, Harry or Neville were usually the cause.   
  
Are my lectures boring you, Mr. Potter? Must you go and seek amusement by passing notes instead?   
  
Ron was just showing me something I'd missed in the lecture. Harry said without hesitation. He had the excuse in store if he was caught.   
  
Snape wasn't fooled. Make that twenty points from Gryfindor. You're a horrible liar, Mr. Potter. Snape went back to his lecture after that, leaving Harry grateful he had gotten off so easily. It wasn't exactly the best start to this term, however.   
  
Not so great starts rarely led to good finishes.  
**********  
  
  
Since Herminie refused flat out to help them in any way (I won't be encouraging you two!). Harry and Ron were left by themselves to come up with a game plan against Malfoy.   
  
The boys came back from the library, arms aching from hauling up promising books to the common room. Harry's personal favorite was, Easy Charms for Revenge by Winter Ilean. Ron was partial to Hateful Hexes by Dezi Exline and Charms To Perform on The Socially Challenged by Crystal Steely.  
  
The next few nights were spent pouring over the texts, gleaning out anything useful. They were both well aware that Draco probably had access to books with a lot meaner spells than these, and they needed something big. Something good.  
  
It meant even more than that to Harry, though. He found that it just wasn't enough to beat Malfoy. He wanted Draco so embarrassed, so blown out of the water in this duel, that he could never look at Harry again without cringing. In all of the many books they looked through, nothing was good enough for him. All of the spells and hexes were too tame, too temporary for his liking.   
  
Ron snapped, after the forth night of looking, not trying to kill him!  
  
Harry glanced at Ron for a moment, and then looked back at the book again, not answering. Had he really bothered to self analyze, he would have realized that he was placing all of his pent up anger with another horrible summer with the Dursleys on Draco's head. Anger and frustration that normally would be worked out in Quidditch practice was now centered souly on this duel. Not good enough, not painful enough. He would often mutter, looking through the books.  
  
All Ron could do was look at him with worry.  
  
Friday night was upon them, and Harry still hadn't found what he wanted.  
  
Give it up already, Ron made it sound like a plea, I don't think you'll find what you're looking for even if you go to the restricted section.  
  
Harry put down the book he was reading (101 ways to one-up your enemy) Maybe you're right. Saying that left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he had to take off his glasses to rub his sore eyes before glancing at the wall clock. It was nine-thirty. Just an hour and a half to go.  
  
Slowly, his gaze drifted from the clock to the middle of the room as people were apt to do when lost in their own thoughts. Ron was saying something, giving Harry a pep talk, but he wasn't listening.  
  
Something had caught his eye.  
  
Harry quickly rose from the seat and crossed to the other side of the common room, leaving Ron still talking behind him.  
  
There, nestled in a dark corner on, a hardly used table lay a simple black book, obviously forgotten by its owner. Curious, Harry picked it up and turned it over, searching for a title. There was one, carved into the leather in gold, but it was in a strange language that he couldn't read. Almost a mix of French and Portuguese. Opening the pages, Harry was not surprised to find the same language written in the texts. Some words were bolded, and in Latin. Spells, perhaps.   
  
Walking back to Ron, Harry turned though the pages. Every once in awhile he would come up on some scribbled notes underneath the text. Someone had been taking notes.  
  
What do you have? Ron asked.  
  
A book, Harry replied, not really listening at all.  
  
Then he came on it.  
  
The spell he had been looking for.  
  
Scribbled in the notes was a description for the curse of his dreams. Something that would knock Malfoy out of the duel for sure. Ron! I think this is it! He said, pointing excitedly to the page.  
  
Ron rose out of his seat and read over Harry's shoulder. First his brown eyes widened, than narrowed. Finally he said, You're not practicing that on me.   
  
  
  
To be continued...  
  
Well, thanks for reading this, guys. The next chapter should be up shortly, as I already have it written down on paper.   
  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  



	2. Chapter Two

Chapter 2 

Authors notes: I wrote this several weeks before the Rhoad Island fire. My heart goes out to those who were lost, and to the band. Also, some elements (Draco's guilt) are sorta like The Subtile Knife. Again, I wrote this several weeks ago, and me and the author of that story just think along similar veins. Anyway, enough apologizing! Onto the reviewers!

To my reviewers: flamin-phyinix (I haven't gotten your e-mail. Could you please resend? OhSoKorny@hotmail.com) Lady Lestrange (Thank you SO much for adding this story to your favorites. It makes me feel special. *G* And even though your story doesn't have slash in it, it's still damned good!) **Freddie** (Thanks for the input on the story. I tried to make my characters less flat. What disturbs me is that you think I care who you are, and I magically know where you live. I don't know what you've "heard about me", but look into taking some pills. They'll make you a lot happier.) **Jose ** (I really wrote this next part with your comments in mind. Your review is by far the most helpful. The only way I'll be able to get good is if people let me know what I do wrong.) **Cerberis** (Thank you for your review! I'm afraid this chapter was a little late in coming, but the next one won't be. *Crosses fingers*) Silver Angel (You were the first to review, and your comments made me feel so good! Thank you!) 

Gryffindors were supposed to be brave, but in reality Ron didn't feel that way at all. He wasn't afraid of the upcoming wizards duel... in his mind he saw little chance of Harry loosing even _if_ Malfoy showed his face. Harry seemed to have an unnatural amount of luck, as well as the ability to show grace under pressure. Yeah, Harry would probably come out the victor tonight, especially if he used the new-found spell. That was the problem, and it was what scared him.

"Is there a counter curse in there, anywhere?" Ron asked, peering at the book with slightly squinted eyes. 

Harry shook his head, and shut the book, tucking it away among his textbooks. He was grinning... a scary, really unnatural wolfish grin that didn't appear to look natural on his face. "How about we just leave it on him? Let him know how it feels-" 

"Are you nuts?!" Ron demanded, none too kindly. Then, he figured out what must be going through his friend's mind... or at least, he think he did. "This is about that dirty dementor trick Malfoy pulled last year, isn't it? You think this will make you and Malfoy even!" 

Again, Harry shook his head, but at least the wolfish grin faded, "No, winning the cup put us even. Ron... you don't understand-" 

"What wouldn't I understand? You don't think I hate Malfoy as much as you? You don't think that I wouldn't want to see his face when you win? But... but it's not the fact that you win, it's _how_ you win. Bewitching Malfoy like that is dirty and-" he broke off for a moment, screwing his face up in a look of distaste, "and I'm starting to sound like my Mum." 

"Yeah," Although he hated to admit it, Ron did have a bit of a point. This spell was dirty, but was it no less dirty than the things Malfoy was going to try on him? Did that make it right? No, it didn't. 

Harry glanced once more at the leather-bound book, "Look... I won't use it unless it's absolutely necessary." 

Ron didn't say anything for a moment. Harry's behavior was strange, to say the least. Maybe it was due to nerves? He tried a joke. "It's a shame the spell has nothing to do with ferrets," he said, with a quirk of a smile, "I would love to see his face..." 

******** 

After that, eleven o'clock couldn't come fast enough. Despite Ron's earlier joke, there was an amount of tension still hanging between the pair. Harry should have felt like he had an ace up his sleeve... but every time he glanced at Ron, he just felt guilty. He tried to content himself with the fact that if this was anyone but Malfoy, this curse would have been out of the question. 

Unfortunately, it didn't help. 

This whole week, he had been preparing for the upcoming duel. Now, he found himself half wishing that Malfoy wouldn't show up at all, like in the first year. But to his and Ron's surprise, Draco was actually waiting for them in the trophy room. What was more surprising was that he was all alone. 

"What happened to your second?" Ron blurted.

"What happened to your mud blood second?" Draco shot back, leaning against one of the walls and idly twirling his wand. He ended up answering Ron anyway. "Flitwick gave them detention," he shrugged, "Not that it matters. I won't be needing a second." 

For one brief second, it struck Harry as terribly sad that Draco didn't have anyone to back him up. If it had been Harry, anyone in his house would have jumped to his aid. Draco's friends would rather serve detention then be there for him. The pity was quickly squashed when he remembered that Draco was the one who had started this.

The anger was returning now, washing out all of the fear and doubt of the last few hours. It rolled inside him, clenching up his stomach and leaving him feeling sick. He needed to exorcise it. 

Without another word, Harry walked to the middle of the room, wand out. Ron was muttering a silencing curse behind him, making sure that no one would hear this duel outside the room unless they accidentally walked in.   
  


Draco, seeing the duel was about to start, did the same. They both bowed to one another, and then took ten paces back (Ron did the counting). 

Draco was the first to strike, "_Silencio_!" 

Harry reacted mostly on impulse, spitting out the first spell that came to mind, "_Expelliarmus!"_

The two sparkling spells collided in mid air with a crack, knocking each other out. 

"That was dirty, Malfoy!" Harry yelled. If he were to be silenced, he couldn't conjure a thing. In essence, he would be knocked out of the fight and left to Draco's whims. Suddenly, Harry's own curse didn't seem like such a bad idea anymore. 

Draco actually laughed, his eyes dancing with an almost unholy glee. How long now had he wanted to take on The-Boy-Who-Lived? "I've always wanted to shut you up, Potter." 

Harry's mistake was carrying on his conversation, and trying to think of a retort. His moment of hesitation gave Draco the chance he needed to cast another spell. "_Impotermia Fredda_!" 

Instantly, Harry was cold. So cold that he could hardly move. He tried casting a spell of his own, but all that came out of his mouth was a puff of frozen air, the moisture within freezing and falling to the ground. Shivers shook a body that didn't seem to belong to him any longer, and he fell to the floor. The impact didn't hurt... his limbs and skin was far too cold to hurt. 

Distantly, he could hear Draco laugh and turn on Ron... Ron... his second... The person who was supposed to step in if Harry were dead or incapacitated... if Draco won…

It was the anger, deep seeded in a heart that was slowly freezing to death, that got him to act. He would not let Draco win. He would _not_ let Draco win! Numbed fingers clutched at a wand he couldn't feel, pointing it at himself. 

"_R-riscalitin_," he whispered. The warming charm worked immediately, spreading hot pins and needles through his body. Harry was able to stand up in time to see Ron just barely block a bewitchment by Draco. "Viggio!" Harry cried, pointing his wand at Draco's feet. 

Sometimes the simple spells, such as tripping, worked the best. Draco legs were knocked right out from under him. Harry cheered, and looked over at Ron to share in the quick glory... but Draco seemed to be made of rubber, and bounced right back to his feet again. 

"_Babina Arresto_!" he snarled. A round knot formed somewhere in Harry's throat, blocking any air in or out. Green eyes widened in horror, and his hands flew to his neck, forgetting about using any counter spell. Choking, Harry clawed at his neck, trying and failing to suck in air. 

Ron ran over to Harry, but there wasn't much that he could do, "Stop this, Malfoy! You're going to kill him!" 

Draco smirked, and made a point of examining his fingernails for a few moments before responding, "If he kisses the floor, I'll fix him." 

Ron cursed something and advanced on Draco a few paces, wand held out. Then he paused, torn between wanting to tear Draco a new one, and begging him to help his friend, "Help him!" 

"Are you deaf as well as stupid?" Draco drawled, now flicking a piece of lint off his robes, "Not until he kisses the floor, Weasel." 

Ron glanced at Harry who was beginning to twitch a little. He didn't think that Harry was in any shape to listen to him. Maybe something simple would work? He had to try, "_Respril_,". 

In truth, the spell was a cure for something else, a stuffed nose, but incredibly the knot in Harry's throat disappeared. Struggling to get up once more, Harry dragged in one ragged breath after another. 

"You bloody cheaters." Draco sounded half amused, as if he was teaching children an important lesson in dueling. He had won. 

Ron hauled Harry to his feet, "C'mon, let's get out of here." He murmured. 

Harry looked at him with dull green eyes, trying to figure out what Ron said from the haze in his mind. Draco's won... No. Not after what Draco pulled last year. Not after he had tried to make Harry and his friends miserable for the last three years. His sense of justice was fully ignited, and he lurched out of Ron's grasp. "No!"  Unsteadily, he pointed his wand at Draco. 

The smirk on Draco's face could not have been wider, 

"What are you going to do, Potter? Trip me again? Give me jelly legs?"

"No." The spell that Harry had found in the leather-bound book had been long and complex sounding. It was hard on Harry's scratched and sore throat, "_Nemico Ditimare Dentro_!" 

For a moment, he feared that it had not worked. That his last stand had been a very pathetic one, indeed. After all, he hadn't any practice with the bewitchment curse. Usually, one did not just spit out a string of words and have them work their magic. And this bewitchment was a very complex one… if it worked, it would make the victim see in the caster whatever he or she most feared. 

It was said that Harry had the best luck in the world, and maybe it was true. Draco stared at Harry, his gray eyes growing so wide that Harry could easily see the whites from across the room. "Wha-what are you playing at, Potter?" He demanded, taking a step back. 

Harry found himself grinning. It wasn't a nice grin at all, "Something wrong, Malfoy?" 

Despite his earlier reservations, Ron was trying hard not to laugh. The look on Draco's face was classic. He was trying so hard not to look scared, and failing so miserably, "See something you don't like?" 

Draco raised his wand to point it at Harry, but to everyone's surprise (including his own) his hand was trembling violently. "Don't... don't you come near me." This time, he took two steps backwards, accidentally dropping his wand in the process. His arrogant, aristocratic manner was slipping right off him. 

Draco seemed to shrink within himself for a second, and he didn't dare bend down to pick up the wand. "Call... call it off, Weasel." Despite his manner, Draco seemed to be trying to force a drawl... still trying to keep his composure. 

"Why don't you kiss the floor first?" Harry suggested, taking a few more steps forward, consequently making Draco take steps backwards until his back hit the far wall with the shelved trophies. 

"I... no... eat him!" Desperately, Draco pointed at Ron, who looked insulted. 

"Eat him?" Harry repeated, then understood. He knew that the bewitchment caused the victim to see in the person who cast it, whatever they feared the worst. It must also be twisting his own words in Draco's mind, making them more frightening.

 Suddenly, Harry felt disgusted. As if a cloud had been lifted over his mind, he knew what he was doing was vile and sick. There wasn't any excuse to use someone's fears against them like this. It was exactly what the dementors did. Pointing his wand at the scared boy, Harry cast the best counter curse he knew, "_Finite Incantatem_." 

Draco shuddered visibly, but otherwise seemed unaffected. Hands clutched at the shelving behind him, and he actually began to beg, "Weasely... Ron... call it off. Call it... oh... oh..." His bewitched mind was showing him something that neither Ron or Harry could see. His eyes locked with Harry's for a moment, and there was only terror within. 

"Malfoy, get a grip. It's only Harry!" Ron snapped, "Harry, maybe you should get out of here until he calms-" 

For reasons only known to him, Draco snapped. He started screaming, screaming as if he was being eaten alive. Screaming as if... well, as if he was stuck in a room with his greatest fear. 

"Be quiet!" Harry hissed, glancing towards the door. He knew that Ron had put a silencing charm on the room, but charms didn't last forever. There was a good chance it had already worn off. 

Draco seemed beyond reason. His legs gave way and he was on the floor, trying to backpedal against the wall, eyes locked with Harry, still screaming. Harry didn't want to do it. This was his fault... all his fault... but Draco needed to be silenced. He raised his wand, but Ron was faster, "_Stupify_!"

Draco's body gave a convulsive jerk, his eyes rolled up inside his head and he collapsed, unconscious. 

For a moment, Harry could only stare at Draco... his mind refusing to believe what he had done. That he had actually taken a measure of pleasure from seeing the terror in Draco's steel colored eyes. 

"I would hate to see what could scare _him_ that badly." Ron muttered, lightly poking Draco with his foot. Harry couldn't answer right away. Where there had been anger, now all he felt was sick. There was no way he could leave the bewitchment on Draco now. Ron had been right... he shouldn't have used the curse.

Counting himself lucky that he had the foresight to bring the leather-bound spell book with him, Harry went to get it. He had it hidden along with his invisibility cloak. 

"Let me see that," Ron said, gesturing for Harry to toss him the book. His nonchalance was amazing, and he smiled at Harry's startled look. "My brothers have been cursing me with things for years. Everything has a counter curse." When he started flipping through the book, though, his face fell, "Too bad it's not in English..."

 "Yeah." Harry eyed the sleeping Draco. He was so pale that he would have looked dead if not for the shallow rising and falling of his chest. Draco appeared to have used less gel than usual with his hair, and some strains had come loose, spilling over his face. It was a shame that a person who looked like that turned out to be such a bad seed. 

Ron gave up his search after only five minutes, "If it's in here, it's not translated." He paused, "I wish Hermione were here." 

Harry did too, and desperately. Hermione would probably know at least a dozen counter charms. And even if she didn't, she would know precisely where in the library to look. "I do too, but it looks like we're on our own." 

He and Ron had no choice but to try for the library themselves. They couldn't leave Draco behind. Both knew that the moment he woke up, he would probably go snitch on them. And even if he didn't... unless the bewitchment suddenly wore off, there was no way he could be normal around Harry. People would easily suspect something, and the truth would be out. 

Ron nodded when Harry spoke his worries out loud, "Right. You get his left side, I'll get the right... oof, he's heavy!" For such a slim person, Draco did seem to weigh a whole lot. Harry and Ron tucked under each arm, carrying him in the middle. Draco's head flopped limply about as they moved, coming to rest on Harry's shoulder several times.

It was one of the scarier moments Harry had gone through all school year. The library was only a few hallways down, but there was no way the invisibility cloak could mask all three boys. Any moment he expected Filch to come around a corner and catch them. Or far worse... Snape.

 Luck seemed to be with them that night, and the hallways were clear. 

"Here!" Ron puffed as the entered the library, "Drop him into the broom closet." Neither he nor Harry wanted to choose between hiding themselves or Draco if they were discovered. Besides, out of sight was out of mind. The unconscious boy was unceremoniously dropped into the closet like a sack of potatoes, and the door closed behind him. 

Now, the search for the curing spell started. Every couple of minutes, Harry would either find himself glancing to the nearby closet for signs of movement, or to the window for signs of sunrise. There were many anti curses and anti hexes... but not many of them seemed to be anti-bewitchments.

Worse yet, about forty minutes into the search, Harry and Ron heard a low groan coming from the closet. Harry sighed and pushed his book away. "I guess he's waking up." Ron didn't look up from his book, and Harry was painfully reminded of Hermione. 

"You deal with him," said Ron, "I don't want to explain a black eye tomorrow. Plus, he's scared of you. I think I'm onto something." 

Well that was good news, at least. Harry hesitated before pushing back from the desk and walking to the closet. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to see Draco or anyone's face looking at him like that again... as if he were a monster. Maybe he could talk some sense into Draco? That was, assuming, he had some sense in that slimy head of his. The bewitchment might weakened a bit by now. It was a vague hope, but a hope he was willing to follow. 

Harry quickly opened the closet door, stepped inside, and closed it again. He was not going to let Draco escape to tell on them.

 It was pitch black inside the broom closet, but Harry could clearly hear Draco moving around. He was probably just waking up, and trying to figure out where his limbs were, if he was hurt, and how the hell he got wherever he was. "Draco," Harry whispered, choosing to use the other boy's first name. 

The moment he spoke, the sounds of moving stopped abruptly, "Draco, listen to me. You're bewitched. Ron and me are trying to figure out a way to cure you. You can help us out if you like, but you need to be quiet." This sounded very reasonable to himself, but when Draco started to make low terrified sounds, Harry knew the bewitchment still had a strong hold. 

His suspicions were confirmed when the sounds turned into words, "Please... please... don't..." 

Harry sighed. Who would ever believe this? Draco Malfoy reduced to pleading. "Don't what?" He asked, keeping his voice very neutral. He heard Draco choke on his own words, as if there wasn't enough air in the closet. "Don't rip my arms off..." 

Harry snorted, silently wondering what kind of thing Draco thought him to be. At least he was being quiet... Harry wasn't sure he would be doing the same if the positions were reversed. "I'm not going to hurt you-" 

At that moment, while leaning forward in an unconscious attempt to drive his point in, Harry accidentally knocked into one of the brooms that inhabited the closet. The handle fell forward, crashing against the closed door with a loud bang.

 Draco used this moment to fight for his freedom. He lashed out, punched Harry in the chest and tried to scramble around him to get to the door. He would have gotten out, if not for the same broom handle that fell, tripping him, and making him fall right on top of Harry. 

An all out fight ensued. Harry, as winded from the punch as he was, didn't know how he got the best of Draco. But somehow, he found himself on top of him, pinning Draco's arms between their bodies. Draco was screaming again. Screaming hysterically and trying to kick free of Harry's grasp. 

When his knee came dangerously close to Harry's groin, his temper finally snapped. Harry's free hand grabbed a hunk of Draco's hair, pushing Draco's head into the floor. "Shut up or I will rip every one of your limbs off. Do you hear me?" 

It didn't quite break through Draco's hysteria, but it did stop his screaming. Instead, he groaned... something animal... something terrified. Like a fox caught in a foot trap. Harry let go of Draco's hair and covered his mouth instead, trying to silence him as much as possible. 

I'm sorry, he thought, but I don't have a choice. As much as he didn't like him, Harry felt a swell of pity. What sort of thing turned a haughty, arrogant person into... into this? A shivering boy inside of a closet. Furthermore, what kind of a monster cast a spell that did this to people? Draco was his worst enemy, and Harry did not even wish it on him. 

Warm wetness suddenly spread under Harry's legs, and it took every ounce of self-control not to jump off of the other boy. Draco had wet himself. Actually wet himself in fear. Draco's body jerked once, and he gave a muffled groan. Small tremors shook him as he dissolved into embarrassed tears. 

Wisely, Harry said nothing. Not even when he felt the tears against the hand that was covering Draco's mouth. Draco was trying to preserve what dignity he had left by crying silently, and Harry gave it to him. 

Draco was embarrassed, exhausted and more terrified than any moment of his life combined. This was coupled with the fact that he _knew_ he was in for a very slow, very painful death. His body began to convulse more violently, and he couldn't get enough air... he couldn't breathe... any moment now, he was going to feel those teeth on his neck…

Harry recognized that Draco was working himself up into another hysteria. All he could do was ride through it until Draco exhausted himself. The minutes ticked by slowly, and eventually Draco seemed to get some hold on himself. He even tried shifting his body ever so slightly to see if he could break Harry's grasp... until Harry snapped at him sharply. 

Finally, finally Ron opened the closet door. The sudden light illuminated Harry's face, and whatever shreds of control Draco managed to gather were lost. He could clearly see Harry,  above him, holding him down... and all he could do was scream. Well, scream and buck up and do anything, _anything_ to get his horror to release him. 

"Use what you have, Ron!" Harry yelled, seeing Ron frozen in surprise. 

There was only a moment's more pause before Ron acted. "_Collegminto Antico_!" 

A strange sort of warmth flowed through Harry, followed by an unusual sensation. It was as if he was touching one of his own limbs, and finding it numb. 

Terror over washed his senses. But this wasn't the sort of terror that he felt while facing Tom Riddle or Sirius (before he knew what he was). No, this was a nameless fear. A fear a child felt when looking under the bed in the middle of the night... only so much worse. Nothing ever came out from under the bed, but now... now it was holding him down. Torturing him. Playing with him like a cat would a mouse. 

For only a moment, Harry realized that his mind was actually touching Draco's. Then, he was looking through Draco's eyes to see what was terrifying him so much. Above him, pinning him down was not Harry Potter but... a clown. 

Yes, a clown. Complete with painted face, red wig and a red nose, this clown even had a mess of balloons behind him. Ah, but it wasn't just any clown. It was one from some dumb American Movie. "It" by Steven King. This was Mr. Pennywise above him. 

The realization jumped from Harry's mind to Draco's, and the image of the clown shifted slightly, jumped, and then faded away completely to be replaced by the far less scary features of Harry Potter. 

In Draco realizing the source of his fears, the bewitchment had been broken. 

For one long moment after the boys were back in their own minds, they stared at each other, almost disbelieving. Then... "Get off me, Potter." 

The good old Malfoy arrogance was back in Draco's tone, although his voice was trembling ever so slightly. 

Harry shook his head, and got up, all too happy to be rid of a position that was ever so intimate. 

Draco didn't sit up... not right away. He instead took several deep breaths, appearing to collect his composure. But his dignity was in shreds, and there wasn't nearly enough left to grab. It was hard... so very hard to be dignified when he had just disgraced himself in a number of ways in front of his enemy. A blush started around his neck, and had grown to his cheeks by the time he sat up. "What are you staring at?" He snapped, seeing Ron's wide eyes. 

"Malfoy, did you wet yourself?" Ron demanded, staring in horror at Draco's clothes.

Draco visibly flinched, as if he had been slapped. He wanted to curse Ron right then... show him how it felt to be pinned in a dark closet by a fear... but it had all been a trick. Some lousy Gryffindor trick... "This... this didn't happen, Weasel... Potter... this didn't happen." 

Harry nodded, finding Draco's words more than just a little sad. The other boy was shifting around uneasily, smoothing his already gelled hair and rearranging his cloak as if to cover up his embarrassment. Image meant everything to Draco, and here he was, still acting the aristocrat. Not even admitting that he had lost the wizards duel. 

"Okay," Harry said slowly, "This is our secret." Draco nodded, more like a tilt of his head. Ever the aristocrat, he stood up and turned around in a way that should have made his cloak billow out behind him... if it had not been soaked in urine. With one final look at Harry, as if to remind himself that he was not the clown, Draco strode out of the library.

 "Lousy git," Ron muttered, watching him leave, "Not even a thank you for fixing him..." 

Harry wanted to agree, but found himself shrugging instead. Draco's disgrace hadn't been limited to his own clothes... it had gotten on Harry as well. Now, all he wanted to do was to take a long shower, go to sleep, and forget that this night had ever happened. 

It wasn't going to be that easy, of course. He already knew that this night was going to haunt him... and for good reason. The way he had acted was... sickening. Bewitching Draco with something he barely knew anything about was unforgivable... he had lowered himself to the Slytherin's level just to beat him in a stupid duel, and there wasn't any excuse for that. 

Muggles did not throw dirt in one another's eyes to win a fight, and he shouldn't have used that bewitchment. The way that Draco had looked at him... those wide, terrified eyes... Harry was sure he wasn't going to forget that for quite awhile either. He never wanted to be looked at like that again.

 ******* 

As much as Harry wanted the night to magically erase itself, Hermoine wasn't going to let him forget it. She swooped down on Ron and Harry the very next day. The two boys had completely slept through breakfast from staying up all night for the duel. At lunch, they were staring at their turkey sandwiches, puffy eyed and more than a little pale. 

"What happened?" Hermoine asked, sitting across the table from them. Although she wasn't about to forgive them for acting stupid and taking Draco up on a duel, there was a good amount of pity in her eyes. 

"When did you decide to talk to us again?" Ron demanded, around a half asked yawn. 

She ignored that question completely, "Malfoy didn't even show up until half the Arithmacy Class was over. And when he did... he looked really terrible."

 Harry winced at that. Just as he feared, he had been plagued in his sleep with nightmares about hearing Draco's screams. Draco couldn't have faired very much better, "I don't blame him," he said, exchanging a look with Ron, "It was pretty bad." 

"Oh!" Her shoulders dropped, and she stared worrying her lip ever so slightly. Obviously, she felt pretty bad for deserting her friends over the week. "So, you lost, then?" 

"No," Now Ron was taking small bites out of his sandwich, speaking through his food, "We won, but..." he cast a guilty look at Harry. 

Harry's stomach gave a rumble, but it had nothing to do with the food. His mind had flashed back once more to Draco's eyes. "We... I used a curse on him." Harry blurted. Hermione was his friend, so maybe she would have something comforting to say. Something to drive away his guilt and self disgust, "It made him see in me whatever he most fears." 

"The Neminco curse." Hermoine rattled off, looking slightly stunned, "You used that? Harry, that's... that's not a very nice thing to do." 

Ron scowled, "Well Malfoy was cursing Harry with a lot of other not nice things too, you know. That reminds me, Harry. Do you know what scared him like that?" 

"Yeah, I saw it. Draco's terrified of clowns," Harry said, wearily. 

Ron stared at him in disbelieve, then started to chuckle to hard he nearly choked on his sandwich until Harry slapped his back. 

Hermione was grinning as well. First ferrets, and now clowns. My, they were learning a lot about their resident snooty Slytherin this term. But something was itching at her brain, "What do you mean, you saw it?" 

Harry's story came out in a rush. Maybe if Hermionie knew what had happened, she could forgive him. And if she forgave him... maybe he could forgive himself for last night. "Hermionie, you should have seen Malfoy. He... well, he soiled his robes. We couldn't just leave him with that, and hope it went away on its own. We took him to the library, and Ron found a counter curse that let me see what it was that was scaring him, and somehow, it worked." 

She made a sound of disgust in the back of her throat, ruining Harry's hopes at redemption. "'Somehow it worked'? Honestly, spells aren't something you play with. They aren't toys..." But her severe look slowly faded away into a small smile, "So, he's afraid of clowns? Are the red noses too much for him?"

 Harry looked up in startlement, then chortled. The first smile since last night crept across his face as he finally found a little bit of humor in what had happened. "I actually think it's the balloons..." 

                                                ******

The next few weeks passed with their usual uncanny speed of Hogwarts. Excitement about the upcoming Tri-wizard championship was growing, and it was the main topic of gossip in the common rooms. What would the people coming from the other schools be like? Who would be defending Hogwarts honor? 

Hermoine ended up being the center of discussion in the Gryfinndor common rooms, both interesting and boring the socks off of people who asked her about previous championships. 

It was two weeks before Holloween, when the other schools were going to show up. Hermione was whispering one such rendition of a previous Tournament to Ron and Harry in their History of Magic class. (An effort to keep her friends awake.) 

Professor Binns was floating several inches off of his stool in the front of the class, reciting the seven main causes of the goblin rebellions, when the screaming started. 

Harry sat bolt upright in his chair, as did many of the students, looking around for the source of the blood curtailing scream. It sounded as if someone was being murdered right inside of their classroom. 

Soon another scream, this one a male voice, started... and another, and another. The screams seemed to be coming from everywhere, and nowhere all at the same time. Unending, but horrible... like the screamers were being put through the worst tortures imaginable, with no let up in sight. 

"Where are they coming from?!" Ron yelled, hands clapped over his ears. Professor Binns was trying to restore order in the classroom, saying it was probably a charm gone wrong, but he was failing miserably. What kind of a charm could do this? 

Dumbledore's voice, magically enhanced, cut through the air. "All students report to the great hall immediately. Teachers, meet at the front entrance." 

All too gratefully, the history class piled out into the hall way... but the screams were there as well. More of them, louder than before, more agonized. The screams seemed to be coming from the walls themselves. If anyone thought that they would get relief from the Great Hall, they were sorely mistaken. The screams seemed to bounce against each other, and even more filtered in, tripling the sound. 

The only thing that the students could do was wait it out. Huddling in small groups, ears were pressed against shoulders. The more sensitive people were cuddled in the middle. Prefects tried to give out orders in the din, but their voices were easily shut out. The screams rolled over them, for how long... no one knew for sure. It felt like forever. 

Slowly... ever so slowly, the screams reached a high point, and then faded out, one by one. Finally, there was only merciful silence in the Great Hall. 

The only one who spoke at first was a Hufflepuff prefect male, "Everyone is to stay inside." 

Those who were muggle-born felt like they had gotten out of a very loud, concert. Everyone's ears were ringing, and normal sounds were very dimmed... very strained. 

"This had better not be the Tri-Wizard Championship," said a very familiar voice. Harry looked up from his group and realized that Draco Malfoy was very near by, huddling with the rest. 

Actually, the group seemed to be composed of people from all four houses. In times like these, it seemed, it didn't matter who the other person was. Just as long as their body blocked a little of the sound. 

"Don't be stupid, Malfoy." Hermoine snapped. She was looking around, her intelligent brown eyes darting everywhere in the room, doing some kind of a headcount. 

"Where did all the Ravenclaws go?" Everyone in the group looked around as well. Hermoine was right... it seemed as if half the Ravenclaw house was missing. 

"Egh, the walls are wet!" Ron jumped back, knocking into a Hufflepuff girl. The wall he had been leaning against was damp and cold with condensation. 

It was a very subdued bunch of students who populated the great hall. Voices were low, muted and just a little scared. There hadn't been any word from the teachers for hours, and roomers circled the population over and over, getting more wild with each telling. 

Overhead, the enchanted ceiling crackled with a thunderstorm. And still, the students waited. 

******* 

Evening had begun to set in when they finally got word. Rations, provided by the prefects, had been handed out. It was a simple packet that when sprinkled with enchanted water, grew to become a hot, fully fledged meal. 

Two great knocks, sounding like hollow booms, alerted the students before one of the side doors opened. Dumbledore walked in, followed by Professors Flitwick, Sprout, and McGonagall. Their robes were streaked with soot. The sight of the heads of houses in such a state silenced everyone immediately. 

Every eye was locked on Dumbledore. He looked old at that moment... so very old. His voice, when he spoke, was gruff. "My students," he said, placing a hand on Flitwick's shoulder. The little man shuddered visibly, as if the hand carried with it a too heavy weight to bare. "This is truly a sad day." Dumbledore paused again before speaking, "It is my duty to announce a tragedy. The Astronomy class was taking a field trip outside of school grounds. Professor Snape was heading the class, because Mrs. Sinistra had been stricken with a cold." Dumbledore faltered. Actually faltered. "The class was allowed a side trip to the bookstore. There was a fire-" 

Many of the students took a collective gasp, putting the pieces together before Dumbledore spoke again. "Many of the students were lost in the panic. Professor Snape was burned badly trying to save who he could." 

A numb sort of silence took over the student body, only broken by tiny Flitwick who drew in a sob. The Astronomy class had been filled with his Ravenclaws. One of the rare all ages classes... fire was not a thing that discriminates against the younger or older students. 

From the folds of his sooty robes, Dumbledore drew out a length of parchment paper. "The names of the deceased," he read, "Terry Boot... Lisa Turpin Stewart Ackerly... Morag MacDougal... Roger Davies..." and the list went on and on. 

Each name was met with a sort of a strangled cry from his or her friends, followed by muffled or very loud sobs. Harry was watching Dumbledore, pale faced, twisting the hem of his robes in his hands. Silently begging him not to call out Cho's name... "Orla Quirk..." Dumbledore continued. 

Draco leaned against the still damp walls, away from Crabbe and Golye, his pale face almost translucent. His stomach was clenched in so tight of a knot, he could hardly breathe. He could have been on that list. If his father had not "insisted", if he had not given in, if Dumbledore had not approved of the schedule change... he would have had that Astronomy class. The only Slytherin in a class of Ravenclaws. He probably would have been caught up in the fire. Dumbledore... Dumbledore would say his name, his house would gasp... and that would be it. He would be dead. Burned to a crisp. Weakness took over his body, causing him to slide down the wall, hyperventilating. It could have been him... it could have been him... If not for his father... his father... oh no.. 

"Thomas Youngblood." Dumbledore let the last name ring out over the hall, a small tribute to those who had perished. Again he spoke, his voice quiet, gentle. "This has been a most terrible day. Classes will understandably be canceled for the next three days, and grief councilor wizards will be on hand tomorrow if you should need it." 

The wet walls caught his eye, and he placed a hand upon one, shaking his head, "It seems as the school itself is weeping for those who were lost. Prefects, please return the students to their houses. Tomorrow, we shall morn." With that, he clapped his hands once. Instantly, all of the drapes, all the hangings, and even the fabric of the students clothes became shrouded in black. 

It was horrible for Harry as he trudged back to his common room, happy that Cho's name had not been called out, but numb from all of the rest of the loss. He couldn't imagine what it would be like if he were a Ravenclaw, going back to a common room devoid of so many people. 

Hermione was sniffling to the side of him, leaning against Ron as they walked. She wasn't the only one. Fred and George were in front of the group, hands around each other's shoulders in brotherly affection. 

Normally, they would be joking around right now... but now there was only sadness. There would be no more jokes for quite some time. 

****** 

A mass funeral was held by the lake for the Hogwarts students two days later. Along with the deceased Ravenclaws, some of the other students were missing too... they had been pulled out of school for the weak to attend smaller, private funerals with friends and family. 

The remaining students sat in chairs outside under a crisp October sky. A sea of transfigured black with only a few bursts of white here and there. Everyone who could walk out of the hospital wing had made it, most of the burn victims still in healing bandages. 

Draco sat between Crabbe and Golye, staring straight ahead as speaker after speaker came up to talk... but not even listening at all. The only signs of tension in his long frame were his hands... hands that were gripping the bottom of his chair so hard that the knuckles had long ago turned white. 

He had been fine, really, up until this morning. In grip of denial, he had told himself that his fathers actions, while mysterious, were much above murdering a whole bunch of teenagers for no reason. Besides, most of the Ravenclaw students were pure-blooded. He should be feeling grateful, really, that his father had been insightful enough to recommend a better class for him... Then he had gotten the letter. A letter of worry and relief that he had not been caught in the fire, signed by both of his parents. It was a letter that most of the students had received, because it was normal behavior... but it wasn't normal for his parents. 

How many times had it been drilled into his head? Letters written without emotional detachment were objects that could be used in blackmail. Things like that had a magical energy all its own, that could be used against the sender if intercepted. His mother and father's letters had always been short, concise and to the point. 

Even when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, the letters had shown no more concern than if Draco had a bad week at school. Plus, this letter had been signed by both of them... another thing that was very, very unusual. Try as he might, Draco couldn't imagine his mother and father sitting in the study, dictating together a letter for his benefit. It was almost as if his parents were anticipating his worries, and had devised it ahead of time... 

Instead of reassuring Draco, all it did was reopen the wound in his mind, casting his father in a shadow of doubt once more. What if he did help with the fire? What if his father had been responsible? The thought of his father creeping around Hogsmede, playing an arsonist was nearly as absurd as the idea of him and his mother dictating a letter together. 

The idea of his father being involved in some... shady dealings was hardly a new one. What was done had to be done, his parents often said. But these were his classmates... Never before had death hit so close to Draco, and it left him feeling angry, confused and more than a little betrayed. If Lucius had been involved, why didn't he tell Draco? Did he not trust his only son? 

Maybe if Draco knew ahead of time, he could have done something... dropped hints at the right points, saved a few lives... Wait... what was he thinking? He didn't go around saving people for the Hell of it. That was the job of the Hufflepuffs or Gryffindors. Still, the thought that he could have done something plagued him, and twisted at his stomach. 

Draco squared his shoulders, mind set firmly against the emotions of guilt and pity. He was a Malfoy, after all. Feeling this way only wasted time and energy. Most of the people who died had to have been idiots, anyway. Why didn't they all head to the door in a calm and orderly fashion when they saw that a fire had broken out? Yes, it was probably them loosing their heads that caused most of the deaths… unless, of course, the exits were magically sealed. 

The image of that gruesome end brought a shiver down his spine, although he was careful not to look disturbed. If his father _had_ been involved (which was still unlikely) he would have had a very good reason. Malfoys weren't thieves, and they weren't plunderers. There were things -- political things -- that Draco still wasn't aware of. Maybe that had something to do with it. 

Yes, he had to have trust in his father. He had to trust him that he wouldn't soil the name and kill a bunch of _kids_ for a stupid reason. There was no way Draco should tell anyone... should he? His stomach gave another angry twist, and he turned his attention to the funeral again, the mental images of his schoolmates deaths still fresh in his head. 

Guilt was a weakness, his father often said. He had nothing to feel guilty about... he didn't know anything for sure. It was hard to tell himself these things, though, when sitting in a mass funeral. 

******* 

Classes resumed that Thursday, and for Harry it meant Care of Magical Creatures class with Hagrid, the Slytherins and the Blast Ended Skrewts. "Today we're gonna let the 'skrewts out of the boxes for a bit." Hagrids voice boomed out over the groans of the students. "They'v' been cooped up in the cages fer too long, ya see. They're gettin' restless." 

Restless was an interesting word for it, seeing as the magically fire proofed boxes were starting to smolder. The students were to form a ring around the skrewts, pinning them in and discouraging some of the more rambunctious ones from escaping. 

At least, that was the theory. In actuality, all Hell broke loose once the first box was open. No one, not even the Gryffindors, wanted to be on the wrong end of either a sucker or a stinger. One skrewt in particular, seemed to want to have a taste for Malfoy flesh. 

Draco's mouth twisted into a sneer, as if he couldn't believe that such a stupid, pitiful creature would be senseless enough to come towards _him_. Well, he would teach the stupid thing. And rid the world of one less skrewt while he was at it. "Stupify!" But his wand emitted no spell, and the charging skrewt was not slowed at all. Draco tried again, "Stupify! Stupify! You stupid piece of-" he smacked his wand against his knee, trying to knock the magic out of it, "Stupify!" 

The skrewt was nearly on him, and he was turning to run when Hermione's voice rang out, "Stupify!" The skewt, instead of being stunned, literally blew up. Parts of the skewt rained down upon the very unhappy students. 

"You okay there, Malfoy?" At least Hagrid had his heart in the right place, looking after his students before the skrewt. 

Draco was okay... grossed out, but okay. "No thanks to you." he said, trying and failing to pick some skewt goo out of his robes. First Hippogriffs and now Skrewts. What was next? He simply had to mail his father about... no... he didn't want contact him just yet. For someone who had hardly questioned his father in his life, this was a slightly disturbing thought.

 Hagrid breathed a sigh of relief, remembering very well the last time Draco had gotten hurt in his class. He turned to Hermione, "Try to use a weaker spell, next time Hermione. I dun have many 'skrewts left." 

"I thought that I was." Her brows furrowed in confusion. "Lumos!" The tip of her wand glowed faintly in the mid-day light, then flickered and died. 

"Oi, I think your wand's broken, Hermione-" Ron was cut off by a large booming sound.

 Goyle had tried the stunning spell on another skrewt. This one had not only blown up the unlucky skewt, but taken a small crater full of Hagrid's garden with it. 

Hermione's own wand gave a jerk in her hand and the tip suddenly spilled with enough light to make everyone around her wince in pain. Just as quickly, it flickered and died once more. 

Harry sidestepped a rampaging skrewt, and then hastily put his own wand away. "What's going on?"

 "I... I don't know-" 

BOOM 

"Sorry!" Ron called, to a now stricken looking Hagrid, "I was just trying to slow it down a little... well, it only looks a little frozen..."

 ***** 

The rest of the classes that day were just as eventful. Transfiguration was a mess, with McGonagall's own demonstrations popping back and forth from their transfigured state to their normal ones.  The toads that they were supposed to be turning into toadstools went either unchanged, or simply blew up. 

The exceptions were Hermione and Draco... Draco couldn't even manage to get his wand to shoot out sparks, and Hermione managed to get her toad into the shape of a toadstool for a limited amount of time before it popped back into normality again.

The Professors seemed to be at the end of their ropes, having to stop ten times an hour during their lectures to correct a student's magic gone horribly wrong.

 "I wonder if they'll cancel classes again?" Ron asked that evening in the great hall. His stomach was aching with hunger... it seemed that the house elves were having just as much luck with magic as they were. The food was very slow in coming, indeed. 

Overhead, the enchanted sky rolled with colors not found in nature, from florescent pink to vomit green. 

Hermione was busy with a book of Hogwarts, A History. Harry, who was just as hungry as Ron, was looking up at the head table. The some of the teachers looked worried, and McGonagall looked extremely unhappy. 

"I mean," Ron continued, "It seems like the entire school's magic has gone crazy. We can't learn anything."

 Harry turned his eyes to the very pitiful looking Ravenclaw table, feeling a burst of sadness. It was going to be awhile until anyone could think of that house, and not reflect on death. "Maybe the school is still grieving." 

"You mean, the castle itself?" Hermione asked. For a witch in training, she did seem a little cynical about the idea of Hogwarts having a mind.

 "Maybe. I'd feel pretty rotten if a fraction of my students just... died." 

Ron moaned, "I could go down there and make dinner faster than this..." He brightened suddenly as the side door opened and Dumbledore made his appearance. "Finally!" He said, clearly thinking that the sight of their headmaster meant that dinner was on the way. 

But Dumbledore did not sit down in his usual seat. Instead, he remained standing. "Today has been a most interesting day!" He said, causing quite a few murmurs from the crowd. "I know that most of you want to fill your stomachs, but first I'm afraid I must bore you with a little bit of Hogwarts History." 

Dumbledore glanced back at the teachers, silently imposing his will before turning back to the sea of transfigured black robes before him. The teachers managed to school their faces from unhappy to blank, "The reason that Hogwarts makes such a wonderful place of learning is the simple fact that its power is made and maintained within the four houses. Each house, and the students within, give out their own special magic and also create a very elaborate system of checks and balances to keep that magic contained. That balance was upset by our recent tragedy. We now have two choices set before us to regain the balance; Transfer in new students from other countries, or redistribute the population."

 The murmur among the students increased abruptly at that news, until Dumbledore put up his hand for silence. "Because the state of current affairs, and the fact that we are in the middle of the first school term, transferring other students is out. I've had a word with the sorting hat-" again, he was interrupted by murmurs, and again he had to put up his hand for silence, "And it has agreed due to this most unusual set of circumstances. I will allow one day for everyone to set things in order, and then you will all be resorted. Most will stay in their current houses, but some will not. This is not some sort of a punishment, but rather a necessity. The balance must be restored." With that, Dumbledore sat down and the food magically appeared on everyone's plate. 

Appetites were few and far between, on that night.

To be continued…

Questions? Comments? Death threats? 


	3. Chapter Three

*******

"This has happened before," Hermione said, her voice nearly swallowed in the very noisy common room. "In thirteen - thirteen. I read it in Hogwarts, a History."

Ron's face was flushed red with anger, "What is Dumbledore on about? This… this isn't right, resorting us all like this!"

"He _has_ to do it, Ron." Hermione countered automatically. "You heard him. The balance of the four houses needs to be restored for magic to work properly here again."

"None of the teachers looked too happy about it," Harry commented, absently. Similar conversations were going on around the entire common room, and Harry felt like he was seeing a place in a new light. How many less people would be here tomorrow night? How many were to go to the Ravenclaw house?

"Well," said Hermione, "I'm not too happy about it either, but I'm sure it's all for the best."

"You'll be singing a different tune tomorrow." Ron's expression had gone very dark indeed, "You don know that you'll be sorted into Ravenclaw, don't you? With your wits."

Hermione went pale.

"She might not be the only one," Harry muttered, then winced, wishing that he hadn't spoken up at all.

Ron gave his friend an appraising look, "No, I don't think you'll be resorted, Harry. You don't like to study at all."

"Yeah." But Harry hadn't been talking about being resorted into Ravenclaw. His mind kept flashing back to the duel, and to the feeling of pleasure he had gotten when Draco was afraid of him. Were those Slytherin traits? He would bet money on the fact that feeling pleasure from someone else's pain wasn't a characteristic of Gryffindor.

BAM!

Every head in the common room turned to the corner where Fred and George were laughing themselves sick at an oversized canary who used to be their sister, Ginny. The boys didn't have any instincts at all about how to make their sister happy… but at least it served to lighten the mood in the comment room. 

And Ginny, when she molted and turned back to her normal self, did remark that she felt a little better.

                                                ********

The Great Hall was abuzz with noise the next evening with the chatter taking on a high pitched, almost distressed note. Each person was worried, worried that they were going to be resorted and ripped away from their friends and house… so they were talking to fill in the worry.

Dumbledore was sitting at the head of the teacher's desk, looking quite unworried, almost serene. It was Professer McGonagall who stood up from the table, catching everyone's attention. Where just a moment before the Great Hall had been filled with noise… now it was so silent, a pin could be heard dropping.

"When I call out your names, please come up and sit on the stool." The Professer said, coming around the table to stand by the stool in question. It was the same directions each student had been given before on their first year, but now the new circumstances made it almost… eerie. Each student was just as nervous as they had been before, on their first day at Hogwarts.

"Zabini, Blaise!"

Blaise came from the Slytherin table, looking only slightly nervous. She arranged her transfigured black cloak regally around her as she sat on the stool. Professer McGonagall placed the old worn out Sorting Hat on her head, and there was a moment's silence before it screamed out, "Slytherin!"

Blaise's home table clapped in applause, and at the same time, her transfigured black clothes of mourning changed color to silver and green.

"Thomas, Yetti!"

"She's calling out the names in reverse order." Hermione said, over the cheer of the Hufflepuff table when Thomas was returned to them, decked out in black and yellow.

"Weasely, Ron!"

Harry scooted his chair out of the way for his friend so Ron could get by him and go up to the stool. Ron gave McGonagall a small, but brave smile before the Sorting Hat was placed on his head. 

"Ah yes," the Sorting Hat said, in his mind. "You have grown well in Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley. But what's this? Ah yes, I see… I see." Ron was about to ask what the Hat saw, but it answered his question for him, "You have talent, Mr. Weasley. Talent that has been accessed by your house, but may not come to bloom if you should stay there. Only one thing for it … RAVENCLAW!"

"What?!" Ron ripped the hat off his head and shook it violently, "I'm not a Ravenclaw! Sort me back, you stupid piece of-"

"Mr. Weasely!" An aghast McGonagall grabbed the hat back from his hands, "I understand that you're upset, but take your place with your new house. Immediately!"

Muttering, Ron stalked off to the Ravenclaw table, his robes now the colors of blue and brown.

Harry and Hermione stared at each other, stunned.

"Weasely, Ginny!" 

The Sorting Hat didn't look too bad, for all that Ron had tried to strangle the life out of it, but the torn seem did look a tad bit wider when it was placed on Ginny's head. "HUFFLEPUFF!" The Hat yelled, a minute later. Ginny didn't make a show like her brother, but did look to be on the verge of crying when she sat down with the Hufflepuffs.

"Weasley, George!" 

George winked bravely at McGonagall when he sat down. He was rewarded barely a second later when the hat called, "GRYFFINDOR!" Fred went next, and was just as lucky.

Things seemed to go in a blur after that. Mostly, the Hat resorted people into their own houses, sometimes calling out "Ravenclaw!" instead. Rarely, it even sorted people into a completely different house, like for Ginny.

Harry kept on glancing to the left, where Ron was sitting. Another Ravenclaw was talking to him, but he seemed too sullen to make good conversation. A lump of sadness grew in Harry's throat… Ron had been his friend since the beginning. What would he do without him? Maybe… maybe they would all get sorted into Ravenclaw. At least then he, Hermione and Ron could be together again…

"Potter, Harry!" 

Harry's legs felt like water when he rose and went over to the Hat. Should he ask for it to put him into Ravenclaw? Would it put him into Slytherin instead, for what he did at the duel? 

"Hello again, Mr. Potter," The Hat said, when it was placed on his head, "Worried about going to Slytherin, are you? This seems to be a common theme for you… perhaps… no. You are a true Gryfindor, Mr. Potter. You showed it when you pulled the sword out of me the other year. Well, enough talking from me. I have a whole school to sort… GRYFINDOR!" 

Harry couldn't look at Ron when he retook his seat. He just couldn't let his friend see the relief on his face. 

"Malfoy, Draco!"

Draco walked to the stool, head held up high, not showing any worry unlike _most_ of the students in Hogwarts. The last time, the Hat hadn't even spoken to him before it screamed out his house. This time, there was only silence when it was placed on his head.

_What are you waiting for?_ He thought, angrily.

"I can feel your shame, Mr. Malfoy, and your guilt." Said the voice in his head, making Draco flinch in his seat. Would the Hat tell on him? It could see into his very thoughts. Would it cause him to betray his father? "Ah, loyalty. That's a Hufflepuff trait." The Hat said, "But I don't think that house is for you. You have a wonderful mind, clever and intelligent. Ravenclaw would take you as well. This series of events have changed you, Mr. Malfoy… for better or for worse, I cannot say. But Slytherin is no longer where you belong. Better be… GRYFFINDOR!"

Draco could only sit on the stool, stunned. A flurry of whispers was already echoing around the Hall, but he felt nothing… no anger or confusion… just blank. As if he had witnessed a horrible car accident, and had been shocked beyond emotion.

He glanced down… his expensive robes were now the colors of red and gold. For a moment, he wondered why they should be these colors, instead of the usual silver and green…

"Mr. Malfoy, please take your seat." Professor McGonigal's voice seemed to be coming from very far away… 

His seat… Draco glanced up at her, almost as if wondering who she was. Then, he got off his stool, walked a few steps to the left, checked himself, then walked to the right… towards the Gryffindor table. 

Some of the students moved a few inches away from him. Others just stared. Draco wanted to return the looks, wanted to dare them to say something _anything_, but he couldn't bring his eyes up to meet them. A single thought flickered across his mind, and he grabbed onto it, holding onto it like a life jacket.

The Hat was punishing him. It knew what he knew about the fire, and it was punishing him for it.

"Granger, Hermione!" 

"Oh no." Hermione whispered as she got up and walked to the stool. She was very contained, and very nervious… quite unlike her first time with the sorting hat. However, the moment the hat was placed on her head it screamed, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The whole house, save for Draco, clapped.

On and on, backwards through the alphabit, the sorting hat changed lives, or kept them the same. Rounding out around midnight, the last name was called… the last sorted into Ravenclaw. Dumbledore rose from his seat again, and surveyed the students. The hat had done very good work… the population seemed to be sorted evenly. The aged wizard didn't speak, only nodded his head, dismissing his tired students.

Draco felt sick inside, rising with the rest of the Gryffindors. He swiveled his head, longing to go with his old house, watching them leave until they were no longer in sight. He had to hurry quickly to catch up with his new house. No one spoke to him… then again, he wasn't in the mood to be civil if he had been spoken too. A few paces ahead of him, Harry and Hermione were walking together, both just as silent.

Up and around the familiar corridors they went, until they reached the more unfamiliar areas of the castle. Finally, they stopped in front of a painting of a fat lady. Draco watched sullenly as the new prefect told everyone the new password (Lionfang). 

Stepping through the portrait, Draco took one look around the room, and rolled his eyes. It was decked out in red and gold with common sofa's and armchairs in the same colors. A modest fire place roared in the corner, although he didn't think that it helped the décor any. He missed the leather coaches already. 

  
"Don't like what you see, Malfoy?" Hermione asked, staring at him with mild disgust on her face. It was obvious that she figured the common room was top notch. Showed how little she knew.

But Draco didn't have the energy to make a cutting remark back at her. Besides, he was feeling suddenly very naked and exposed without Crabbe and Goyle backing him up. "Just tell me that the beds aren't as tacky as the rest of this place…"

"C'mon," Harry moved between the two, jerking his chin up to one of the staircases. "It's this way." 

Turns out, Ron was the only boy of his year to be sorted out of Gryffindor, so Draco had to take his bed… right next to Harry's. The small sneer on Draco's face grew into a very large one when he realized this. There was no way he was sleeping next to… to him! "Hey!" He said, turning to Seamus. "Trade beds with me."

Seamus looked shocked for a moment, then shook his head, "No way, Malfoy. You're not sleeping in my bed." 

"It wouldn't be your bed. It would be my… oh nevermind." Draco gave up and got on Ron's old bed, pulling the curtains around him so he didn't have to see his roommates. "Twits." 

                                                            ******


End file.
